The Ramrodders eBook

On the day before, Thelismer Thornton emerged from
the back room of headquarters at the State capital,
and with Chairman Presson and Harlan journeyed to
the scene of the conflict. Before their departure
the Duke had been obliged, smilingly, to refuse a
request of Mrs. Presson’s.

She had asked that young Mr. Thornton be delegated
as squire of dames to accompany herself and her party
to the convention.

“I’m afraid you haven’t realized
for a week or so that the boy is in politics, Lucretia.
I’ve let him run to pasture with a pretty long
cord on him. He’ll have to come in under
the saddle now. We’ll have one of the young
beaus from the Governor’s staff on the lookout
for you at the hall. This fellow here”—­he
patted Harlan’s arm—­“he hasn’t
been broken to the society bridle yet. He was
allowing to me the other day that he didn’t
propose to be, either.”

Miss Presson had overheard.

Harlan, remembering, flashed a glance of rebuke and
anger at the old man. It was a shock to him to
have his own sentiments thrust back at him in that
manner.

“We haven’t found Mr. Harlan ungallant,”
protested Mrs. Presson. She treated the matter
in jest, though the young man’s face did not
indicate that he especially appreciated the humor.

“Oh, he’s probably just been playing ’possum—­practising
dissimulation, getting used to being a politician!
You be watching out, Lucretia. He’ll forget
himself and make a bolt pretty soon. The test
of the thing will be in seeing whether he holds out
or not!”

In his indignation, Harlan was too confused just then
to grasp the fact that his tormentor was craftily
handing him over to the Presson womenfolk, bound,
branded, and supple—­unless he proposed to
merit his grandfather’s label in their estimation.

“Now, look here, grandfather”—­he
began, wrathfully; but the Duke pulled him away, drowning
his protests in a laugh.

“You have placed me in a ridiculous position,
and that’s a mighty mild way to put it,”
complained the indignant victim, when they were outside.
“I don’t understand, grandfather, why you
do something to me every now and then that knocks
all the props out from under me. It isn’t
decent—­it’s vulgar—­it’s
shameful, the way you do some things!”

“Operate in a queer way, do I?” inquired
the old man, blandly.

“You certainly do.”

“Did you ever stop to think, boy, that human
nature is a queer thing?”

“Whose human nature are you referring to—­yours
or mine?”

“You know what the old Quaker said to his wife:
’All the world’s queer, dear, except thee
and me—­and thee’s a little queer!’”

The angry young man would have liked to get a little
more light on the question, but Chairman Presson was
ready for them and hustled them into the carriage.
And on the ride to the station, during the journey
by train, at the convention city, there were other
matters uppermost besides a young man’s pique.